


mind my wicked words and tipsy topsy slurs

by thoughiseemtame



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:06:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughiseemtame/pseuds/thoughiseemtame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drink can loosen the tongue to disastrous effect, but sometimes, it can give just the push you need in the right direction.</p><p> </p><p>Hancock/Female Sole Survivor (Sloan)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i take your gloom

There were a staggering number of bars in Goodneighbour, considering the size of the small community. Most of them left a lot to be desired: hot, overcrowded, packed full of less than savoury characters. The dive Sloan was currently visiting was no different, although the company was far more preferable than usual.

It had been close to four months since she woke up below ground, her muscles stiff with atrophy and her mind racing with questions as she pounded against the glass of her containment chamber. Four months since she jumped from age 28 to age 238 in the blink of an eye, since she’d lost her husband, her son, and everything she’d spent a lifetime trying to build. It hurt her head to dwell on it, so she locked those thoughts away in the deep recesses of her mind, focusing instead on more pressing issues like survival and finding her boy. It was hard when she would constantly stumble across the wedding ring tucked away in her pack, or catch a glimpse of the long, thin scar from her Caesarean across her lower belly.

Drinking helped, and she relied on it, probably a bit too much. It numbed the dull ache gnawing away constantly at her guts, made it easier to forget that she hadn’t always lived like this, in this broken shell of a world she didn’t recognize. Might need to address that one day, before it got out of hand…but not tonight.

Sloan leaned forward on the precarious stool, tracing the rim of her tumbler with one slim finger. Contemplating the murky amber liquid, she let out a soft sigh. Hancock sat beside her, lifting his drink to his mouth and emptying the contents down his throat in one lazy movement. 

When they spent time together, it was usually in this bar. They would talk into the wee hours of the morning, or sit in amiable silence, ordering drinks that were always on the house when the Mayor was present. Secretly, she looked forward to these nights. Most of her time was spent with only Dogmeat for company, and while she loved the dog immensely, it was nice to partake in adult conversation, even if only for a few hours.

She felt comfortable around Hancock. He never asked too much of her, or pried into her past. He seemed content to keep things light and friendly, and he always made time to see her when she came around. It was almost like having a friend again. Almost. 

Sometimes, Sloan’s thoughts would linger on the ghoul for a moment too long, and a wave of guilt would rush over her, Nate’s voice echoing in her ears as her face burned with shame. It had probably been years since his death, but it was only months to her. What kind of monster did that make her?

The kind of monster who killed and stole and bartered and begged, evidently.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

The suddenness of the raspy voice beside her almost startled Sloan off her stool. Grinning, she swallowed the remnants of her drink before looking over at Hancock, shrugging one shoulder apologetically. 

“Got a lot on my mind, I suppose,” she admitted, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Just one of those nights.”

He nodded, mouth quirked up on one side in a smirk. “Cap for your thoughts?”

Her eyes followed the movement of his mouth, and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “How do you ghouls kiss without lips, anyway?”

She regretted it almost as soon the words left her, slipping past full lips loosened by the bitter fingers of whiskey the bartender kept tipping into her glass. 

Her face burned as she realized the bluntness of what she’d just said. It was far from tactful or politically correct, and there was every chance that Hancock would take offense. There was also the possibility that it would clue him in to how often she thought of his mouth, but that was far less likely.


	2. i curl it up and puff it into plumes

She regretted it almost as soon the words left her mouth, slipping past full lips loosened by the bitter fingers of whiskey the bartender kept tipping into her glass. 

Her face burned as she realized the bluntness of what she’d just said. It was far from tactful or politically correct, and there was every chance that Hancock would take offense. There was also the possibility that it would clue him in to how often she thought of his mouth, but that was far less likely. She hoped. 

The next few seconds seemed to span an eternity, the silence agonizing before Hancock finally broke it.

Relief flooded through Sloan’s body as the ghoul perched beside her at the bar let out a rough bark of laughter, his ruined face drawing into a wide grin. A sheepish smile crossed her lips as well, and she let her eyes dart back to the glass clasped between her hands.

“That’s a very specific question,” Hancock mused, “can I ask what the hell brought it on?”

Sloan signaled to the bartender to refill her glass, buying herself a moment to formulate something believable in response. 

“Word vomit, I’m afraid,” she explained. “I’ve always been curious, since you’ve never been shy in mentioning your…exploits. Probably shouldn’t have just blurted it out, that wasn’t very smooth of me.”

Hancock watched her, gaze intent, before shaking his head slightly and chuckling. For some reason, she got the impression that he didn’t quite believe her, but she shook it off. 

“Well, we get by. I’ll leave it at that.” He winked at her, raising his glass in a mock toast.

The barkeep reappeared with a fresh drink for her, and Hancock engaged the man in a bit of conversation, much to Sloan’s relief. The rest of the evening passed without further mention of her slip, remaining uneventful until a bloody bar fight signaled that it was time to call it a night.

The pair walked in comfortable silence down the main road of Goodneighbour, Sloan trailing slightly ahead until she noticed that the ghoul’s footsteps had come to a halt. 

She paused when she realized Hancock had stopped. Raising a quizzical brow, she turned, her question faltering on her lips when she saw the way he was looking at her, his eyes intense and slightly narrowed. 

“Everything OK?” she asked, casting her gaze to their surroundings to see if she’d missed some sort of suspicious activity. Her hand went for the pistol at her waist, but Hancock stopped her, his large fingers wrapping around her wrist. 

“No need for that,” he rasped, his touch firm against the flutter of her pulse. It was the first time he had ever touched her, and Sloan felt sparks where their skin met. 

“Curious, huh?” he said, his voice low and intimate. She flushed, knowing instantly what he was referring to, and opened her mouth to respond.

Suddenly his body was flush against hers, the warmth of his flesh burning against her chest as he crushed his mouth to hers. One of his strong hands still circled her wrist, while the other snaked around her waist to pull her even closer. 

Sloan’s eyes widened in surprise before fluttering shut. His mouth was rough and insistent, and the lack of lips made for a foreign (albeit pleasant) sensation. There was nothing soft or gentle about the way he kissed her. If she didn’t know better, she would almost have guessed that he’d wanted to do this for a long time. Best not to let her mind go there.

She kissed back hungrily, arching her back to press herself even closer. Raising one tentative hand, she cupped the back of his neck, the skin raised and uneven under her fingertips. 

Hancock let out a low sound in the back of his throat, and took her bottom lip between his teeth for just a moment, pulling slightly. The slight burn of pain mingled with the pleasure pooling in her lower belly was delectable, and she tried unsuccessfully to swallow back the moan that threatened to escape her lips. 

Hancock pulled back as suddenly as he had drawn her close, his eyes slightly hazy and his breathing just as ragged as hers. For a moment, she almost thought he looked surprised, but the expression left his face so quickly that she was sure she had imagined it. Sloan could feel how flushed her face and chest were, and her mouth felt swollen and bruised. She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. 

The ghoul’s eyes traveled from her lips to her throat, and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. A beat of awkward silence passed between them, and Sloan struggled to come up with something to say to lighten the mood. She was finding it extremely difficult to think of anything other than how his body had felt against hers.

Fortunately, Hancock broke the spell before the moment could drag on too long. A smug grin spread across his face, although it seemed a bit forced. “We make do,” he said, his voice even more hoarse than usual, “without lips. As you can see. You take care of yourself, Sloan.” 

He turned and strode off into the night before she could reply, raising a hand in greeting to a cluster of townspeople across the street.

She watched him go, her racing heart beginning to sink as she realized that he had been proving a point. Damn him. Well, he’d certainly succeeded in doing so, and to be fair, she probably deserved it.

Raking a hand through her tousled hair, Sloan let out a soft sigh, and touched her lower lip. “Guilt be damned,” she thought, “I’d really like to do that again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this brief short! I'm less than ten hours into the game and already writing Hancock fic...send help. I'll probably be starting a more explicit follow-up in the next day or so, because of REASONS.


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